Becoming

Beneath the veiled morning, where whispers dress the dawn,

I wander, barefoot on dew, across the uncut lawn.

A seeker with no compass, in this vast, enigmatic game,

Each step in fresh soil, no two fingerprints the same.

This is the journey through the mist of my own being,

Where questions fall like rain, incessant and freeing.

In every droplet, a reflection of who I might become,

Mirrors in the puddles, fragmented and seldom some.

Amidst the grove of possibility, I stand—

A sapling stretching skywards, nurtured by demand.

Every leaf a lesson gleaned in the sun’s embrace,

Roots tangled in the soil of my own sacred space.

The horizon bends gently, an ever-shifting line,

With trails marked by the stars of another’s design.

Yet from this chaos of paths, my own course I glean,

Carving out a road in spaces unseen.

In the thicket, where light and shadow interlace,

I find my reflection—a spectrum of grace.

Each version of myself, like leaves turned in the fall,

Colors the canopy of my soul, echoing a higher call.

The wind sings of change, a relentless, tender muse,

Its melody a map, should I dare to choose.

This symphony of self, where every note’s a clue,

Whirls me through the seasons, each breath something new.

So I journey onward, where wild destinies meet,

In the dance of the cosmos, in the heart’s quiet beat.

With each step, I am both lost and further found,

In the splendid labyrinth of being, profoundly unbound.